Perception
by WinterWhirls
Summary: Action cures fear, inaction creates terror. Elliot/Olivia.
1. Concern

**Perception**

**Part One – Concern**

The moonlight streams through the open blinds and falls across the bed in elongated ribbons of sharp clarity.

Her eyes remain closed against the starkness of the night's radiance, and she basks in its eerie glow.

The blanket is a comforting weight around her hips; it keeps her grounded in her morning lethargy, a consoling sheath of warmth from which she dreads to emerge. Winter is right around the corner, and the chill that has settled around the city brings forth the promise of a frigid winter.

Behind her, his breaths are heavy and rhythmic, and she knows from that familiar pattern alone that he is still asleep. His body pushes against hers gently with every inhalation of air. It comforts her. He sleeps heavily, and that is to be expected as it is only four-thirty, and he's been out working a maddening case until dreadfully late into the night, recently.

She closes her eyes and wills her muscles to relax, trying to find sleep once again. She wants to rid herself of the small electric currents surging through her veins, keeping her mind from slipping into unconsciousness. She knows it is entirely too early to be awake, and that she will be feeling the exhaustion come this afternoon if she doesn't sleep now.

She rolls onto her back in frustration at her mind's unwillingness to relax, and turns her head towards him. The covers rustle in the fragile silence, and the mattress gently creaks beneath her shifted weight. The corners of her mouth twitch upward when she sees him. Elliot is dead to the world, his face buried in the side of her pillow, while the rest of him is languorously extended over the remainder of the bed. She is taken aback at how peaceful he looks when in sleep, at how fully he resembles his youthful self when he is completely relaxed. His restful eyes and soft brow do not see the horror of his job, but instead the pleasant images of his dreams. Elliot's jaw is darkened with stubble and his t-shirt is faded, and the sight of him has never ceased to calm her. She sighs and turns her body into him, nestling herself in, seeking his warmth. Instinctually, Elliot drapes an arm across her back, fingers splayed, and pulls her closer. He shifts his body to accommodate hers comfortably, and a soft unconscious murmur leaves his lips.

The silence permeating the room is absolute. Olivia trains an ear, listening intently for any sound coming from the room across the hall, the one belonging to their child, but all that she hears is the steady pattern of Elliot's breathing. She sighs at the relief she feels at the house's peacefulness, and lets her eyes slide shut.

**oOoOoOo**

An hour later she is ruthlessly wrenched from unconsciousness, pulled up to the cool surface from the depths of a dark pond. In a rush, her head jerks up from her husband's shoulder. She waits in apprehension, dazed, resting on her elbow, her breath held, and confused as to what has woken her. Her heart beats valiantly in her chest, and for one delicate moment, everything is dissonantly silent.

And then she hears the telltale restless rustle of sheets from the room across the hall, and her heart's pounding reverberating in her ears is all she can focus on. She knows what those sounds signify. She has heard her daughter's rapid breathing and witnessed the frightened kicking of sheets too many times recently.

"Shit," she mumbles under her breath, wrestling with the comforter. She has pushed herself out from under Elliot's arm and has her feet on the floor when the first terrified scream reaches her ears.

"_MOMMY_!" Sophie's shriek is strident and piercing, stung high with her panic.

Olivia snatches her robe from the chair by the door and dons it in an alarmed frenzy. Pausing only to illuminate her path with the hallway light, she runs quickly across the threshold and into her daughter's bedroom, hasty to stop Sophie's frightened crying.

Olivia's seven-year-old daughter is curled up, trembling at the end of her bed, rocking back and forth, fighting with demons invisible to all but her. Tears fall in small ripplets down her irritated cheeks, and the panicked cries escaping her small chest tug at Olivia's heart. As another scream is heard, Olivia notices that the sheets are in a crumpled pile on the floor. She feels the breath get stuck in her throat as she is met with the haunted, ghostly look on Sophie's face.

There is an inharmonious moment of silence, where mother and daughter are frozen, staring. And the tension builds and builds until it breaks under the intensity of the emotion in the room. Another loud, echoing cry resonates within the walls of the room. Olivia jumps and races to soothe her child.

"Shhhh, Sophie, it's okay. You're okay," Olivia coos, quickly gathering her into a secure embrace and pressing Sophie's pale, grief-stricken face into her neck and shoulder to muffle the high-pitched cries. "Mommy's here, Mommy's here," she repeats slowly and soothingly, as she pats Sophie's back with sure, motherly touches. Sophie hiccups and takes in a large, shaky breath.

"_Mommy_!" She screeches.

"Mommy's right here Sophie, look at me, calm down, calm down, baby," Olivia reassures, voice gradually getting more anxious, pressing her lips into the crown of her daughter's head supportively. "It's over…It's over." As her eyes dart around the room, she notices the large wet area in the centre of Sophie's bed. Bed-wetting often accompanies episodes like this, Olivia has come to expect it, and it makes her heart clench at the terror her daughter suffers at night. She tangles her fingers gently into Sophie's brown hair.

"Mommy, make it go away! Make it _go _Mommy!" Sophie claws at the air around her in a blind frenzy.

Olivia hears the mattress in her room creak in protest as Elliot wakes and gets to his feet. A moment later, his heavy-eyed face appears in the doorway.

"What is it, Liv?" He asks in concern, rubbing a hand over his face, taking in the sight of them.

"Nightmare," she whispers against Sophie's hair, rubbing her hand softly against the frightened girl's trembling back in a fleeting attempt to soothe. "Again."

"Jesus," he murmurs under his breath, stepping closer to his family. After turning on the bedside lamp, he rests one hand on Olivia's shoulder, squeezing once to reassure his wife, and the other goes to cup Sophie's cheek. "Hey, Soph," he says in a gentle voice, trying to capture her attention. Her frantic blue eyes fly to his face. Her eyes are frighteningly wild. "Hey there," he says, when he thinks she's listening. "It's alright. You're at home with Mom and Dad, Honey."

"No more," Sophie whispers, trembling. "No more, please… _Mommy_," she wails, and buries her face back into her mother's neck, her lithe frame clinging to Olivia. Olivia deftly moves over on the single bed mattress, avoiding the wet spot, to make room for Elliot to sit as well. She pulls Sophie more securely into her lap, and leans against Elliot's side.

Both parents sit and wait patiently for the distressed child to return to reality. Finally, Sophie lifts her sweaty head from the crook of Olivia's neck and looks around dazedly. Her eyes are red and irritated from the salty downpour of tears. Her hair is matted to her sticky forehead, and wet streaks down her face are evidence of her crying.

"Hey, El?" Olivia asks, in a soft voice, breaking the silence as she wipes Sophie's tears with her thumb. She feels as if her daughter's calmness can shatter just as easily as the previous stillness when she speaks. It is as if Sophie's calmness is suspended in the in-between, and the minutest breeze can fracture the string holding her up.

"Hmm?" Elliot answers, brushes a hand over Sophie's knotted hair.

"You want to get Sophie a glass of water, and help her into the shower while I clean up in here?" Olivia tilts her head in the direction of the soiled sheets and the blankets strewn across the bedroom floor.

"Sure," he says softly, rubbing his hand down his wife's back before sliding both hands under Sophie's armpits. "C'mere, honey."

He groans as he stands up, lifting her still shaking body with him. "You're getting so tall, Soph, Dad's having trouble," Elliot grunts, and chuckles, an attempt to lighten the atmosphere and make Sophie feel more grounded and safe. She doesn't react, though, only holds limply to her father's biceps and rests her head miserably against his neck, eyes void of emotion and expression blank. Elliot carries her effortlessly into the bathroom and Olivia startles slightly when the tub turns on, the rushing of the water loud and sudden.

Olivia is on edge. Sophie's terrors distress her greatly. The same thoughts circle her brain in a hopeless mantra. _This can't be normal. This can't be normal._ Her daughter has been plagued with the nightmares for several weeks now, and they have progressively gotten more severe in their ruthlessness. Olivia may not be an experienced mother, but she knows that it cannot be of normalcy for her daughter to suffer such. She is unnerved by how helpless she feels, how powerless she is against the demons her daughter is dealing with.

She strips the bed expertly and carries the sheets to the laundry room, dropping the lilac coverings beside the washing machine. They can be dealt with in the morning. She is too tired to focus on anything except the well being of her daughter tonight.

Olivia retrieves fresh bedding from the linen closet, and returns to Sophie's bedroom to make the bed. She can hear Elliot talking to his daughter in soft tones, humming familiar melodies, and telling her funny stories about his day. It isn't long before Olivia can pick up on Sophie's soft voice partaking in the conversation as well, over the rushing of the bathwater.

**oOoOoOo**

She hears the familiar pad of his bare feet against the floorboards as he approaches her. Sure enough, a moment later the hallway light is extinguished and she can smell his cologne.

"Come to bed, Liv," he murmurs, coming to stand behind her at the threshold of Sophie's room. The child is peacefully sleeping once again, enveloped in the softness of the fresh sheets. Elliot places a warm hand on her shoulder, and the gesture is meant to be compassionate.

Olivia doesn't answer. She is fixated on her daughter's pretty, youthful face, relaxed in sleep. She wants to smile at how cute the image of Sophie's bottom lip jutting out is, but the feelings of anxiety and unease permeating the pit of her stomach at her daughter's behaviour overshadow any other feelings. The feeling of worry is too great.

"C'mon," Elliot repeats in a kind whisper, trying to guide her by the shoulder to their room. "She'll be okay. I promise it's okay, Liv."

"But – what if she – I think I should be with her – El, wait," She says in hushed tones, turning her neck to once again look past the doorway and at her child.

"Olivia," Elliot sighs, when she breaks his gentle hold and turns back to the doorway. "You've watched her for ten minutes. She's fast asleep. C'mon, Honey."

Olivia takes one last look at Sophie, drinking in the sweetness of her image. The unruly brown hair tangled against the pillow, the small curled hands resting on the sheets. Olivia exhales and turns to follow Elliot into their room.

She sighs heavily as she sinks down into the comforting softness of their bed. Although the time reads only half and hour since she last slept, she is exhausted. The whole ordeal, every time it occurs, is mentally draining for her. The sun will rise fully soon, and she will benefit from the rest.

Sophie is in her bed, once again lost to sleep. Sophie is fine, she tells herself.

Elliot lies down in bed beside her, and pulls the navy blue comforter up around them both. His hands search for her under the covers. He pulls her to him by her waist, and she shifts against him until she is comfortable.

She is silent, images of her daughter's panicked face playing like a repetitive movie behind her eyes.

"You okay?" He yawns, sensing her unease.

She closes her eyes and inhales deeply. "It's the third time this week, El."

"I know," he says, seriously, nodding. He rubs his hand up and down the side of her arm in a reassuring gesture.

"God," she exhales, shakily, her breath hitting his neck. "It's not normal. It can't be."

"Mmm," he contemplates. "I remember when the twins were little," he hugs her closer still. "They had bad dreams all the time. Children do, Liv."

"Not like this," she insists wearily. "This is different. Something isn't right." Her voice breaks at the end. Elliot didn't see Sophie earlier, when the nightmare was in full force. He didn't see the haunted look in her eyes, the terror written on her face.

"It's going to pass, honey, I know it. We only need to be there for her. She may just grow out of it."

"Elliot -," she protests, bewildered as to how he can act so sure in this matter.

"Liv," his fingers play with the silky strands of her hair on the pillow. "Baby," he murmurs, gently. "I know it's scary. I know you aren't comfortable with it. But...just…don't worry so much, okay? We've got this. Together, we've got this."

She swallows, tries to push down her anxiousness. "Yeah. Okay."

It takes her a long time to fall asleep.

**oOoOoOo**

**Please comment... **


	2. Suspicion

**Perception **

**Part Two – Suspicions **

The mornings are always rushed. The clock forever seems to be mocking her from its solitary position on the wall, derisively ticking 'late, late, late." 7: 58 AM.

Olivia stands in front of the foggy bathroom mirror, ruthlessly towel drying her showered hair. The damp tangles settle on her shoulders, sprinkling residual water across the top of her light blue robe. She runs her fingers through the unruly waves quickly, and then swipes the towel hastily across the steamed mirror, wiping away the fog. She leans in, preparing to apply her customary make-up. The quick thumping of little feet running down the hall is heard.

"Momma," Sophie calls, loitering at the threshold of the bathroom.

"Hmm?" Olivia answers, glancing momentarily at her daughter and then returning her gaze to the dewy mirror, mascara in hand.

"I got dressed," she states, an accomplished look forming on her face.

"Good job," she says, in a commending tone. "Did you brush your teeth?"

Sophie's proud expression quickly fades to one of impatience. "Uh…Yes."

Olivia turns to face her daughter and gives her a fixed look, cocking one eyebrow. Sophie's serious facial expression melts guiltily under her knowing gaze, and a cheeky pout appears. "Fine," she grumbles, and treads to the sink culpably, a frown on her face.

Olivia makes room for Sophie to join her, throwing a hasty look at her watch. She is already ten minutes behind. 8:04 AM. Late, late, late. She wants to break that clock, if only to stop its scornful ticking.

"Liv!" She hears Elliot call from their bedroom, impatiently.

She sighs in exasperation at his bad and well-practiced habit of yelling to her from across the house. "Yeah?"

"Did you wash my pants?" He asks, urgency clearly audible in his tone. She can hear him digging hastily through the drawers of their dresser and mentally chastises him for unfolding all the laundry.

"Which pants, dear?" She sighs, trying to keep her frustrated voice light, and watching Sophie place her toothbrush back in the cup by the sink. "Done, Momma!" Sophie exclaims, hitting her impatiently on the hip to get a reaction of praise from her mother.

"The dark blue ones…" Elliot answers in a distracted mutter, and Olivia hears the closet door open harshly as he digs through the hamper. "Dammit!" The closet closes with a bang. "Olivia!"

Olivia gives Sophie a guiding push out of the smoky bathroom, into the hall, and directs her to the breakfast table. "Hurry, Sophie," she urges, pointing to a chair. "Your breakfast is ready, honey, eat," she says hastily, and then louder, "Don't yell at me from in there, Elliot."

She paces into the bedroom to find it in aggravated disarray, the navy comforter thrown back carelessly, and several of the dresser drawers hanging open, their unfolded contents chaotically overflowing the borders. She almost trips when her foot snags on his boxers haphazardly strewn across the floor. "Dammit El," she sighs. "Clean up after yourself."

"Liv," he says apologetically, and although he sounds genuine enough, her irritation is still sparked high. They're both late, late, late. Unintelligent, stupid clock. "So did you wash them then?" She_ knows_ he doesn't mean to be irritating.

"No, Elliot, I didn't, and in case you need a reminder, the Good Fairy doesn't live here." She says in exasperation.

"What fairy?" Sophie's voice is heard from the door, and a giggle follows. "I want the fairy!"

Olivia turns on the spot. "Sophie, if you aren't at the table by the time I count to three, I will be _very_ angry." She stands with her hands on her hips, and begins the count. "One."

Sophie grins devilishly and jumps up and down on the carpet. "Mommy's mad! Mommy's mad! Mommy's mad!" She chants in screeched delight.

Olivia glares unhappily at her thrilled child. "Two," she warns.

"Grumpy! Meanie! Grouchy! _You stink_!" she shrieks wildly, and continues to jump up and down in the doorway, her peanut butter sticky hands gripping the wall and leaving marks of grease.

Elliot emerges from the small second bathroom adjacent to their bedroom, sensing his wife's agitation. He wears boxers and an undershirt, his face half covered in white foamy shaving cream. "Sophie," he scolds, with a serious fatherly look. "Do _not_ talk to your mother that way."

Sophie sobers a little under her father's chastising look, but after a moment of petulantly returning his glare, she defiantly looses it once more. "_SANTA_!" She exclaims shrilly, and erupts into a fresh round of screeching cackles.

Elliot approaches her and grasps both of her wrists in his hand. "Sophie. Stop – no – Stop. Look. At. Me," he says sternly, trying to get her attention.

Finally, after another fit of irrationally shrill laughter, Sophie sobers and stares at her father with sparklingly lively blue eyes.

"What do you say to your mom?" he chides, holding his daughter's gaze. Sophie doesn't speak; only she breaks his gaze and stares at a spot on the carpet. "I can't hear you," Elliot points out, still holding her wrists.

"Sorry," Sophie mumbles, her gaze still focused intently on the carpet. Olivia looks at her disapprovingly, until the child chances a look up at her mother. Olivia raises an eyebrow for a moment, letting her disappointment sink into Sophie's mind, before sighing and smiling slightly. "Please go eat breakfast, Sophie. We're all late, okay?"

"M'kay," the child answers quietly, a small pout perched on her bottom lip, and she disappears down the hall.

"Thank you," Olivia sighs running her fingers through her hair and giving Elliot a small smile of his own.

Elliot nods. "Uh, what was that about?" he asks, with cautious grin at his irritated wife and wiping the shaving cream off his face with a towel.

"Ugh," Olivia sighs, throwing her hands in the air. "I don't know. She's been like this so much recently." Olivia walks to the dresser and fishes for her clothes, picking them out from between his rumpled outfits.

"She probably gets it from someone at school," Elliot reasons, giving up on the blue pants and picking out a pair of black ones from the closet.

"Maybe," Olivia agrees. "But – I mean, I tried talking to her… she just – Christ, that's not the way we brought her up, El. And – what if she does it in public!"

"Hey, hey," Elliot chides, walking toward her. He places his hands on each of her shoulders and squeezes reassuringly. "Olivia… _Relax_." He waits patiently until he feels the hard tension in her shoulders melt under his warm touch, and then slips his hands up to frame her face. He presses his lips to hers once in a reassuring embrace, before pulling back and brushing a stray hair out of her eye. "Okay?" he asks, his eyes searching hers for signs of distress.

"Okay," she murmurs, with a small smile.

**oOoOoOo**

Olivia watches the sky anxiously as she rings the doorbell and knocks twice on Laura Moore's front door. From her spot on Sophie's babysitter's front porch, the clouds are threatening and ominous, a warning of the impending rain. Although she doesn't like to get wet, it has been very dry recently and everything green in the city would benefit from it. She's had enough of New York appearing crusty when all the plants wither in the dry climate conditions. With this promised downpour, she hopes that green will once again spring to life and the city will find its beauty again.

Her attention is refocused on the door as she hears the footsteps approaching on the other side.

"Oh hey, Olivia," Laura greets with a smile. "Come on in."

"Thanks, Laura." Olivia says, stepping in and inhaling the comforting scent of freshly baked cookies. "Mmmm, it smells good in here!"

"We were just baking –its indoors today because of those clouds," Laura says, walking towards the basement stairs. She leans over the banister, and cups a hand beside her mouth. "Sophie!" She down to the playroom. "Your mom's here!"

"So, how was your day?" Olivia asks as they wait, leaning against the wall.

"Oh, fine, fine. You know we're all very relaxed here. It's nice."

"Hmm, I'll bet," Olivia answers, with a sideways smile. "So-phie," Olivia calls, when it becomes clear that the girl is having entirely too much fun with the other children downstairs and isn't prepared to come up without being nudged. "C'mon, honey!"

A moment later, Olivia hears the quick pounding of footsteps racing up the stairs. "Mom_ma_!" Sophie exclaims, scampering into the entryway and crashing into Olivia's legs.

Chuckling, Olivia smoothes her hand over Sophie's hair lovingly before crouching down to Sophie's level. "Did you have a good day at school?"

"Yes. And guess what? I got to tell the answer in math. I got it right, Mom!"

"Great! Make sure to tell Daddy," Olivia says. "Put your coat and shoes on, Honey, we have to get to the store before it closes." Sophie disappears quickly into the small yellow room on the right, reserved for children's outdoor wear.

"Thanks again, Laura," Olivia smiles at the other woman.

"No problem," Laura returns, but there's something in her expression that doesn't seem right. There is a trace of an emotion unrecognizable to Olivia printed across her face.

"Is…is everything okay?" Olivia asks, hesitantly.

"Uh, Olivia?" Laura asks tentitavely.

"Yeah?" she answers, concerned.

"If you have time…I think there's uh, something you should probably see." Laura speaks cautiously, and gestures to the upstairs. Warning bells ring in Olivia's head at the unease written on Laura's face.

"Okay…" Olivia says hesitantly, and follows Laura up the stairs. "I'll be right back, Sophie."

The carpeted staircase leads to the second story of the large house, a platform that Olivia rarely sees on her visits here. Illuminating their path with the gentle glow of the hallway light, Laura stands at a spot approximately halfway down the passage.

"Um, Sophie drew something today," Laura begins, pointing to the white wall in front of herself.

Olivia takes in the red scribbles covering the wall. "Oh, Laura, I'm so sorry!" Olivia exclaims, mortified. "Oh, she _knows _not to do that!" Olivia can't count the number of times that she told Sophie that colouring was for paper only when she was younger.

Laura shakes her head. "Olivia. It's okay. Really. The other kids do it all the time…That's not really what I'm concerned about." Laura gazes at the red markings on the wall, and she fidgets.

"What is it?" Olivia frowns, stepping forward.

The paralysing dread that splashes through her veins feels as cold and as dark as the menacing sky outside. Her mouth moves to speak, but no sound comes out. Her lungs feel frozen, constricted, and she cannot get any air inside her body to relieve the complete clenching of her muscles in distress.

On the wall in front of her, drawn in bold red crayon, is an image too disturbing for Olivia to believe her child could possibly imagine.

A woman bearing every sign of being with child lies on her back, a long, sharp knife protruding grotesquely from her chest. There is blood spatter on the ground around her, and on the wall above, and the poor woman's face is contorted in a miserable grimace of pain. She has no eyes, only empty, eerie red sockets. Her lips are sewn together all the way across with tiny, ugly stitches. The only beauty Olivia finds in this sinister drawing is the long wisps of gorgeous red hair coloured in a fountain around the dying woman's face. Even that seemingly attractive section is rendered ugly and marred by evil by a pair of jagged scissors making the impression cutting the lovely hair into hideous tresses. Underneath the picture, the words 'Don't Lie' are scribbled in Sophie's familiarly messy penmanship five times, one underneath the other.

Olivia reaches out and touches the wall with trembling fingers, unable to stop the terrifying pounding of her heart in her chest. "S-s-she drew this?" she whispers, unable to tear her eyes from the horrifying image of death.

Laura nods solemnly. "I was finishing the cookies. The other kids had all gone downstairs to play, and I assumed Sophie had gone with them."

"But she hadn't…" Olivia stifles out, eyes still glued in alarmed awe at the picture on the horrible wall. She has no idea how Sophie, a child so innocent, could conjure this image.

"No. She was up here when I can up to use the washroom. She was just sitting against the opposite wall…watching it, staring at it. I called out to her and told her to go downstairs with everyone else…I was just in shock…I mean – I'm worried about her. Who draws something like that?"

Olivia takes in a shaky breath, almost choking on her air. "I…don't know what to say, Laura. I…oh, that picture is terrible," Olivia says, and her mind immediately latches on to a familiar memory, one of rocking her frightened daughter in the middle of the night when the nightmares plagued her sleep. Memories of the screams of terror and the bed-wetting.

From downstairs, Sophie's impatient voice calls up, "Momma, are you coming? I thought you said to hurry!" She rattles the handle on the door.

**oOoOoOo**

Olivia leans against the counter in the kitchen, her arms crossed tightly across her chest. Her agitated demeanour mirrors her thoughts; her mind spins and spins and replays the disturbing image of the Red Woman again and again in her mind. She observes as Sophie sits relaxed on the couch, watching television and eating from a bowl of dry Honey Nut Cheerioes. Sophie hadn't brought up anything about the Red Woman at all since they left Laura's, and although Olivia knows that she needs to speak to her daughter about it, the whole ordeal is much too fresh in her mind to talk to her about it calmly right now.

Relief floods her system when she hears the lock click and sees the door swing open, and Elliot steps into the kitchen, rosy cheeked from the cold night, small droplets of rain sprinkled in his hair. He's home from work a little late, but at least he isn't out on a case or getting a beer with his partner. She needs him at home tonight.

"Hey Liv, sorry I'm late," he says, shedding his coat and slipping out of his shoes. He straightens up and takes in her tense demeanour, the worry swimming in her eyes.

"What's wrong?" he asks, immediately picking up on her unease.

"El," she says, and walks to him numbly, seeking his warm embrace.

"Olivia?" he asks, in bewilderment, folding his arms around her. "What is it?"

**oOoOoOo**

**oOoOoOo**

**oOoOoOo**

**Please comment...**


	3. Chapter 3

**Perception**

**Part Three – Collision**

She is an illustration of distress, her unease inscribed across her features, and everlasting in her figure. She is apprehension personified, and he sees it immediately.

"Hey," he steadies, and grips her shoulders, holding her at arm's length. "Liv, what?"

Her relief at his arrival is palpable; she feels it washing though her, almost tangible in its rolling waves of heat. The emotional charge of it holds her words hostage in her throat, closing off her speech, while the muscles of her fingers try to compensate for her lack of response, tightening around folds of his shirt.

"Liv," he urges, his concern increasingly apparent.

Her throat clears, and suddenly the thickness that has accumulated there vanishes and it is like the barricades have dissolved and automatically it all comes pouring out of her. The vivid red image from the babysitter's wall is engraved in bold strokes behind her closed eyelids, in her memory. She describes to him in a hushed voice the illustration of grotesqueness, tells him about the pregnant woman's vile scene of destruction, about the stitched mouth and unseeing eyes. Her explanation ends with the detail of the jagged carving knife, and the horrible way it protruded from the woman's chest.

He stammers, "What the hell are you talking about, Olivia?" His eyes narrow in confusion. He shakes his head and exhales heavily. "Jesus, when I walked in here your face looked like somebody had died!"

"This is serious," She argues, shaking his arm, desperate for him to understand. She unclips her phone from her hip; scrolling through recent messages until she finds the one she requested Laura send to her. It is a photograph of the image on the wall. She quickly holds out the phone, watching intently as his eyes focus on the replica. His eyes then snap to hers in bewilderment.

"That's horrible, Olivia, why do you…God," he reprimands, reaching out for the phone.

She deftly pulls it back to herself, away from his searching fingers. "Did you even _hear _what I said, Elliot? Sophie _drew_ this!" She forces herself to remain calm, to keep the urgency in her voice to just above a whisper, aware of her daughter sitting in the living room.

"Soph – what?" he repeats, and glances to the girl in front of the television. He turns back to face her. "Sophie?"

"Yes," Olivia says. "El…"

"At Laura's?"

"Yeah…" Olivia looks to the picture again, and frowns. "How did she even think of this?" she whispers.

"Maybe she overheard us talking about a case or something…did you leave any of the files out recently?"

Olivia sighs. "No. And we've always been careful about stuff like that. For exactly this reason. No kid should have that in their brain."

"Okay," he sighs. "First of all, you don't know that it has anything bad to do with Sophie, or if it even has to do with anything bad at all. This case we've worked on…we've been under a lot of strain. You look like you haven't slept for weeks -,"

"Thanks a lot," she says.

He tries to backtrack. "Neither of us has been getting the sleep we need. You get so tired you loose perspective, you start misinterpreting things people say to you, misconstruing their meaning."

Olivia's eyes widen. "I just want you to take me seriously about this,"

"I am," he says.

"I didn't belittle your concerns, years ago."

"What?"

"You remember," she says. "When you thought there was a problem with speech development."

From his face, she can tell he hasn't thought about that in a very long time. It has been four years since the last discussion about it.

"I remember," he says, "And I'm not belittling your concerns. If you think there's something wrong, I believe you."

"That's not all," she continues. "Things have been disappearing. Don bought me a watch, and I don't know what happened to it -,"

"Honey, you just misplaced it. I'm sure." His answer is the same as it had been four days before, when she's first noticed the absence of the expensive watch on her nightstand.

"And what about the money, then?" she protests, raising an eyebrow, daring him to challenge her. "That cash? It was nearly fifty dollars." She looks him straight in the eye. "In my purse."

"I don't know."

"…El," she says, numbly, gaze glazy. Weird things are happening.

"It's going to be alright, Olivia," he says, lifting the lid of the pot on the stove and checking out the contents. He lifts his brows. "That," he says, pointing to the pot with his nose, "looks really damn good."

She crosses her arms over her chest with a heavy sigh, and makes to leave the kitchen area. "Hmm."

He walks to the fridge, reaching into the drawer beside it for the beer opener with one hand.

As she makes her way to the mouth of the hallway, she hears him, a small smile pulling at her lips.

"You're prettier when you smile, Liv."

**oOoOoOo**

"…And then the tech says, 'We rolled the cart on it,' - and, you know, I'm already wanting to rip him a new one because-," Elliot swallows the food in his mouth, "…He's the same man who misplaced an evidence bag that turned up a week later –,"

"I'm done," Sophie says, motioning to her dinner plate.

"…Can you believe him Liv? The guy _rolled _the equipment trolley right over the beer bottle. What was once a murder weapon is now five billion shards at the lab." He takes another sip of beer.

"I'm _done_ I said…"

"…And so anyway, I get in his face and -,"

"Daddy!"

Olivia frowns, "Don't interrupt, dear."

"But I'm _done_!" The little girl whines, and kicks the underside of the dinner table twice, brusquely.

Olivia shoots Elliot a pointed look from across the small table, a subtle reminder of their previous conversation.

Olivia raises her eyebrows. "If you can't behave appropriately, you can eat by yourself in the kitchen. And, no, you aren't done. Here sweetheart," she says, pushing a small amount of potatoes, string beans, and chicken into one separate pile on the plate. "Eat this and then you can get down."

"But -,"

"No buts," Olivia counters. "If you want a story tonight, you know what the deal is."

Sophie grumbles, but proceeds to stab a potato grumpily with her fork. "You suck."

Olivia eyes widen. "Excuse you?"

"You SUCK." Sophie pushes away her plate.

Elliot sets down his cutlery loudly. "Sophia Grace -," he begins, severely.

"You _suck_! I just _wish_ you'd -," Sophie explodes.

"That's it," Elliot stands and picks her up around the waist, holding her securely in his arms. He carries her small form down the hallway, and into the bedroom on the left.

"And you can apologize to your mother when you're calm enough," he states, pulling the door shut behind him.

Sophie's childish howls are muffled from the closed door. Elliot walks back into the dining room, with his eyebrows raised. "Well," he sighs with a sarcastic chuckle, brushing a hand on her nape as he passes behind her to regain his seat. "That went well…"

"But that's _exactly _what I mean, El. It isn't like her." Olivia places her knife and fork on her plate, before standing and precariously balancing her plate, her wine glass, and Elliot's own empty platter in her hands. She walks slowly into the kitchen and carefully places the dishes on the counter.

Elliot sighs. "I wish you would stop worrying."

"Don't be an asshole. You know what I'm talking about. She doesn't openly defy me, let alone _you_, and she certainly doesn't insult me at the top of her lungs. And over finishing her _food_?" Olivia shakes her head and takes Sophie's plate and proceeds to dump its contents into a Tupperware container. She'll have Sophie eat it for lunch tomorrow.

"That's true. We'll keep an eye out." He stands with a grunt, finally deciding to help with the clean up. "We'll talk to her, Liv."

"Fine."

"But right now she's probably half asleep sprawled across her bed. We can ask about it tomorrow."

**OOoOoOo**

"A little to the left," Olivia moans, digging her nails into his shoulder. "Little bit more to the - oh!" she gasps sharply. "…Yes… Oh, like that…"

Elliot bends his neck and nudges her chin up toward him with his forehead, proceeding to cover her lips with his own, stealing her breath, swallowing her heavy pants with sloppy kisses. His hands slip down the sides of her warm body and grip the underside of her thighs, pulling her down on him with each rhythmic thrust he gives into her.

Some angle hits right, and Olivia moans loudly into the quiet bedroom. The house is silent save the sounds of desire from their interlude and the cadenced soft creak of the mattress. A gentle breeze enters from the slightly cracked window, settling over their heated forms.

"Liv," he grates out, throat tight. "Did you really mean it when you called me an asshole earlier?" A drop of sweat leaves a trickle of gleaming wetness in its wake as it slips down his face and drops to Olivia's chest.

She abandons his sweat-misted shoulders in favour of gripping the sheets tightly in her fists, needing something to hold onto, something to ground her. Her nails dig almost painfully into the heels of her hands. Her toes curl into the sheets at her feet, as well. She raises herself up onto her elbows. "God." Her head drops back, "No…I didn't…mean it. _Shit_." A wave of heat pools low in her stomach and the breath escapes from her lungs in harsh pants. She squeezes her eyes shut, every muscle in her body coiling tight with desire. "_Please_, El."

"Hey," he grunts, noticing her tenseness and tightness, and resting his head in the crook of her shoulder in order to give the cramping ache in his shoulders a break. "Just relax." He ducks his head; pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses down the column of her throat as he lowers his lips to her peaked nipple and laps at it with a warm tongue, She's been under so much stress lately… "Just relax," he releases the nipple with a short smacking sound, "Because you know," he pants, "that I'll do it right."

Following through on his promise, he waits until he feels her stomach muscles relax under his warm palm before continuing the rolling motion of his hips. Unable to hold her arms still, unable to control the movement of her scrounging fingers, or any movements at all, Olivia releases the sheets and tries to find purchase in the short stands of Elliot's hair. She scratches at his nape. In doing so, she pushes his head down until his forehead rests below her chin.

"Good?" Elliot grates out from behind clenched teeth.

"Yeah…" She lifts her hips, "Oh…"

The pace quickens.

And quickens.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," she groans through a locked jaw, teeth gritted as he presses her into the mattress, and the tightness in the pit of her stomach spreads upward, until the intense pounding of heat floods through her stomach and down into her calves, the concentrated waves of pleasure rolling through her causing her head to thrash and her eyes to shut tightly.

"God…. I know," he rasps, and buries himself, his teeth biting into the flesh of her shoulder as he comes.

Later, she is lying on her back beside him, and he sleeps. He has always had a strange propensity for falling asleep at the drop of a hat. She thinks it must have been something he learned in the marines. She wishes that she were trained to simply click off her brain at her body's command. Maybe then she'd have less time to agonize over the details of things that worry her.

Instead, she is once again caught looking out the window, her gaze fixed on the tiny blinking lights of the constant traffic on the street below.

Elliot rolls over, his eyes half closed and he's completely groggy. "Y' ok?" he mumbles, turning over.

"Hmm? Yeah. I'm fine."

"Kay." And he throws an arm around her, pressing his face into his pillow. It isn't long before his soft snoring begins again.

**oOoOoOo**

"Momma, I have a question," Sophie's face is curious from her spot inside the shopping cart. Olivia picks up two packs of crackers from different brands and compares the grams versus the price.

"What is it?" Olivia frowns in dismay at cracker box number one, placing it back on the shelf and depositing the other box into the cart at Sophie's feet.

"Do you like your hair?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Buy this." Olivia turns to see Sophie holding out a box of hair dye to her. Perfect Ten, sheer blond.

"No way, bug. Your mother is definitely not a blond. Besides, Dad wouldn't like it."

"Who cares? Buy it. And Dad woulda too liked it. He likes _you_."

Olivia bends over to kiss Sophie on the nose. "Nice try…but no. Please put it back where you found it."

Sophie frowns. "Buy. It."

Olivia walks around to the other side of her cart, hoping desperately this this won't evolve into another random, out-of-character tantrum like last night. She holds out her hand. "Sophie, give me the box, please."

Sophie drops the box pointedly into the cart, all the while staring down her mother with a defiant expression. "I want your hair to be blonde." And for effect, she stomps her foot.

"If this keeps going, the next time I go shopping you will _not _be coming."

"_Make your hair blonde_!" Sophie shrieks, slamming her feet against the cart, eliciting a loud crashing noise, to which several of the customers turn their heads in curiosity.

Olivia blushes and shoots apologetic glances at the people around her, before bending down to whisper in Sophie's ear. "Sophia. Stop right now. We are in public, and you will behave like the mature girl that you are."

"I don't care! I don't _care_!" Sophie reaches back into the cart and holds the hair dye in her mother's face. "Please, please buy it!"

"Why do you want me to buy this so much?" Olivia asks, trying to calm her daughter by cupping her face and smoothing her hand over her hair. "Explain this to me."

"…Because…" Sophie sniffles.

"Because _what _sweetheart?"

"Because…bad, bad things happen to people with your colour hair. I seen it. I _seen _it…" and Sophie begins to cry in earnest, but not because of the box. She reaches up and wraps her arms tightly around her mother's neck, wetting Olivia's shirt with salty tears and runny nose. "I seen it every time I close my eyes..."

**oOoOoOo**

**Okay, so I know it's been like, 10 years since I updated _anything_. I know that, and I'm sorry! I've been on vacation in Fance for the last month, and I was staying in the Pyrenees. While it was very fun and completely worth it, there was no computer, phone, or internet connection whatsoever. Just enormous mountains and an unhealthy amound of ground hogs. (They are SO cute!) **

**Anyway, please forgive me lack of updates...It wasn't lazyness, I promise! And I have the next chapter of Cabin Fever almost written, so know that it won't be another month. **

**Thank you!**


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